the zhaf speaks

Sunday, April 30, 2006:

And there I was. Hurtling into the wild unknown with Harold and Kumar for the cardinal purpose of WHITE CASTLE BURGERS (aka I was watching H & K Go To White Castle). Just then the phone rang to jolt me rudely back to reality. Next thing I knew I was heading to Zouk. Thanks to Guowei, that's 13 for the cabride and 28 for entry. The catch is, it was worth every bleeding cent.

Bed beckons.

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 3:01 pm

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Saturday, April 29, 2006:

Faith, the contemporary world, and the life I live.

Time and again. Rinse and repeat. Wounds reopened. Ideals shattered.

Even though being bad is easy for me (and gives me guilty pleasure at times), I hate being bad. And where being good is concerned, it isn't too difficult, it's just annoying how you just become "too nice" to others. And how in this modern world, "too nice" just doesn't cut it with the ladies (though by and large I've only ever had one person in my sights at any one time).

Someone once said there will always come points in life where you will have to suffer dearly for that which you believe in, and in good faith decide to hold on firmly to.

Giving up alcohol wasn't easy. I've been off debauchery for the longest time now, but I'm on the verge of heading the other way. A reawakening of my faith that started some time back.

Torn between your faith, and being able to live like your contemporaries. Torn between romanticised ideals and the bitter harshness of reality. Time and again being tested, suffering for doing what's right and proper?

Here I've two things worth so much to me. And in the mental tussle deciding which one is more valuable, of course I've to choose the package of my ideals, faith and values over the other.

Losing the other, right before your eyes - it's surreal really. Then it eventually sinks in and you realise it's like the sunshine in your heart's gone and all the romanticised daydreams return to dust. Like being stabbed, and only feeling the excruciating pain many moments later when you chance to look down to see the profuse bleeding.

And I will suffer for what I believe in.

So God help me. Because I am starting to think I will never really find someone both You and myself can look upon with favour. Because I am this close to compromising faith temporarily just to make things happen. Because the faith I have been given is at odds with too much of the world I inhabit.

T-Pain's I'm Sprung is looping on winamp.
So is Mary J Blige's Be Without You.

That day when the latter song is a better descriptor of my life than the first. Somehow it seems to be distancing itself.

The pain is soothed with prayers and time but never really goes away. And once again tomorrow I put on a poker face. And I will smile even if it hurts, because this is my pain alone. I wouldn't wish it upon my worse enemy, and it would be selfish even to attempt to share it with anyone.

Tired. Weary. Jaded. Thanks world.

If you want to see bad I'll fucking give you bad.
I'll screw you over.
And help me dammit I'll laugh while I'm at it.
And when I've time to mull over it - I'll regret it, but not too much.

I may be a pragmatist now, but I can become a pragmatic opportunist of a bastard in due time. So try me.

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 2:03 pm

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Friday, April 28, 2006:

Today, yours truly became a waste disposal specialist - truly the quintessential slack vocation for peaceful soldiers. The perfect job, it comes complete with immunity from cleaning/washing/clearing heavy/troublesome/bothersome stores such as 19 litre jerry cans and much, much more.

Recognition is offered in the form of an enthusiastic thumbs up from the Officer Commanding as his car drives by.

Fun on the job comes from playing bumper cars with the partner WDS along the way, directing our waste trolleys into each other, skillfully creating stylistic movement patterns involving moving in a (seemingly) random fashion from company line to the cookhouse dump. Of course, who can leave out the exotic thrill of trolley surfing downhill and push-kart races testing the mettle of your well-exercised upper limb. Adrenalin inducing.

The only drawback of the vocation is of course is going for 2 trips consecutively, taking almost half an hour in total, and returning enthusiastically to company line only to find that every other darned thing that needed doing when the 5 tonner came back from outfield has (sadly), been completed. Leaving us to take a leisurely trip to bunk to shower.

Did I mention people tend to spout the insufferably hilarious nonsense when pushing waste trolleys?

"My parents would be damn sad if they saw me doing this"
- private M Y Lee

"KNN! Ming! Quick get the rubbish off the bloody tonner. Load it onto the trolley. Move slowly enough so the wheels don't make any noise, it's only polite.
- private MD Zhafri

"I f*ckin' bet we'll have more rubbish to move after this first trip"
- private MD Zhafri's 1st prediction during the 1st round trip. came true

"If we're lucky the goddam tonner'll be gone by the time we're back"
- private MD Zhafri commenting during the 2nd trip. right as rain, we got lucky.

"I think the OCS cadets need help from us. They're too 'up there' to bother with waste disposal. Lets make a trip there tomorrow"
- private M Y Lee

"Can you move faster bitch. I'm having diarrhoea" - private M Y Lee
"Keep the volume down after midnight. Slower" - private MD Zhafri

Only out-of-course personnel eligible =)

---

No matter how much I seem to relax, there will always be someone who can top me even in this department.
Terence goes on MC for 6 days. And if you thought that was wow, Gary took 8 days for depression. Depression of all things? At that rate, I'd be a suspect for senility.

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 12:28 pm

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Wednesday, April 26, 2006:

We've always been told to seek the silver lining in those dark clouds. It implies that whilst the negative outcome may enable us to gleam some lessons, these outcomes should be avoided like the plague. That would mean not having a go at it, at all. I think however that there are certain events where either the positive or negative outcome does good - there is no need to seek the proverbial silver lining in the outline of the dark clouds, nor a need to possess an abject aversion to jumping into the pool for fear of failure.

It's strange how vital experience is to add the requisite depth to reflection (and rather rumination sometimes). With experience sometimes the answers hop off the pages of the past, slapping you impertinently in the face, one of those rude awakenings - like banging your head into the bedside cupboard at 4 in the wee hours.

Control? or submission? As I've been told before, I've a tendency of inflexibility when adjusting quantity, gravitating to either end of the spectrum, the quintessential example of someone who goes for broke. Even trading was the same, big profits with conversely miminal risk of small losses the predominant deal I sought. Deals affording moderate profits with a negligible risk of loss were glanced over. The pattern gets more stupefying the more I think about it. The people I know are mostly either great friends or rather nasty enemies, with few making it to the shades of grey in between. Which is hyprocritical for someone who has been advocating appreciating the shades of grey in between the white and black of life. Yes, no, maybe so? Cancel out the maybe so for me please, yes/no makes it that much simpler.

I wonder how the tomorrows will unfold as always, but slowly it dawns on me that I still can steer myself towards that picture in my mind in bite-sized portions, even if it's a million miles away. Just taking care of the small steps, a manageable one ball ahead in pool rather than a blueprint of first ball to 8ball straight.

Mentally spent. Emotionally ambivalent. Too few songs align with listeners with ambivalent moods. Time to find some for contingencies as such. And it's a night when there seems to be no better companion than a lighted cigarette, seeker of that elusive puff which will give you that eureka, just that feeling when the the riddle is solved. Just that feeling to let me go to sleep. And the roll-up tobacco's with the darned storemen, knocked out flat in their bunk. Semi-charmed, yet botched, kind of night?

And so
*applause
*bow
*exit

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 10:35 am

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Tuesday, April 25, 2006:

Men should know when they're conquered -Quintus
Would you? Would I? -General Maximus
taken from Gladiator

We're stubborn aren't we? No quarter given, but it's fun nevertheless.

The quiet night induces pensive thoughts for once, rather than wildly speculative forecasting and rumination.

And perhaps all I needed was a dollop of focus, of existing in the moment, to approach equilibrium. So while my head stays in the clouds, perhaps now my feet are rooted to the ground just that precious little inch deeper. And I've allowed myself control by merely permitting myself to let go.

Tired, to the bone, but content. I could get used to this. Maybe.

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 12:45 pm

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What can I say, having music in camp tethers me that much closer to all that isn't here. Terribly therapeutic on one hand, and yet semi-depressive on the other - those songs that remind you of someone or another. Of the things that seem to be by and far an eternity away, in a different dimension of existence.

I'd deign to imagine how fun this coming weekend will be, labour day thrown into the equation and all. But after the fiasco that was last week's bookout, then again maybe not.

I'm always telling people to make the best of the hand we're given. And I guess this is it, making ghey jokes with the similarly addle-brained. Laughing with the storemen about our embarassing moments. Meeting Josh at the medical centre with bacterially infected foot eczema (thoroughly gross, seriously). Reminiscing about the good ol' days in Mohawk. Those days will always be a memorable pitstop when I stroll down memory lane.

Soon enough when I'm posted out I'll be laughing at the down and ups of OOC life in sispec echo. The weekend revelry. The weekend that never happened. Rolling up failed cigarettes at the shack, laughing at the amusingly spastic house of the dead 2 in the restroom, and of course audio therapy. Did I mention getting lambasted by superiors? Or the arcane paradox that is consuming combat rations in company line.

Even with 60 songs, I just keep returning to a select few on the earphones. Yet again, another set of songs - another set of landmarks in my life. Chronic hope inoculation against all that would try to bring me under.

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 3:27 am

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Monday, April 24, 2006:

And just like that, the end of the weekend arrived, almost as quickly as it started. Back to camp, with my feet dragging themselves insufferably along. It's pouring outside, the dark sky seems to have taken on the aspect of some predator ready to pounce on the unwary.

It seems as though fate is keeping me from getting to those things that matter to me the most. It's like being chained to a mofockin heavy rock in the desert, walking out as far as you can, but being unable to take even a sip of that oasis right in front of you - the chain's just that short. Oh yeah I forgot the sun's scorching your ass at 45 degrees celsius.

Then again everything's a lesson, everything is part of the bigger picture. And truly, the abject loneliness and destitution, the insufferable yearning and excruciating longing - could that be the foundation of future strength? Of loyalty. Of gratitude. Of selflessness. Of all that is well and good and will (hopefully) be with me the rest of my days on this mortal coil.

Music, tobacco, buddies, and prayers I have. Thank God Almighty. And yet. Something's not quite in place, not quite here, yet.

Time to be a man in green once more. Cheerio =)

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 3:01 am

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Sunday, April 23, 2006:

And as always I'm hoping, praying (very hard indeed) for the best, and expecting the worst to happen.

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 11:47 pm

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Saturday, April 22, 2006:

Now that the presence of mind's back, perhaps this entry'll get started, and in due time I'll try to recompile the 8mth void in my entries.

That all in due time, but yesterday must have been one of those days - you wake up on the wrong side of your bed, the sunlight in the morning almost seems insidious, throat feels like sandpaper and just inhaling the milieu just makes you queasy. For lack of a better word, wretched.

Messing with my bookout from 11am odd to close to 7pm, those 7 hours were probably the longest 7 hours of my life, not even hell in mohawk came close.

brief intermission - my writing feels stifled and unspontaneous

Manning the frontdesk in company line isn't particularly straining. it just contributes significantly to brain rot, not to mention speculating ever so idyllically about things, events and people and quite possibly, halcyon days ahead. The mental wanderlust is great in small amounts but when prolonged, messes with the emotional circuitry - the castles built in the air gain more permanence in your mind, and expectations grow out of kilter.

Having your superior screw you over for putting your (clean) boots on the desk when the whole company's outfield isn't all that bad. But when the attacks start getting personal, especially coming from anal and disgruntled individuals who've spent one day too many in green uniform, their diatribes can get quite biting. I just felt overwhelmed, I broke down silently and quietly. For all I'd done for the rest still going outfield, to have been insinuated as useless for all the hours spent washing/loading/unloading stores/rations and more, to be spoken as such just made me feel wronged the way you'd feel if your trust or selflessness was
taken for granted,
mutilated,
mixed with a swig of requisite bitterness
and forced down your throat.

I've been out there with the buds before. Covered in mud. Smelling absolutely pungent. Drenched in sweat with legs that feel like lead and blood pressure in the head ready to blow. That is why I gave it my all helping them with their outfield supplies. I remember how much relief the food and drink brought at the end of a very long day running around, screaming like madmen, shooting at an enemy I can't see, sweat mixed with camo cream trickling down my face. Would they understand how I felt seeing myself relatively clean at the end of the day, with them running/crawling through the muddy underbrush and needing a trip to the laundrette. The pain, the anguish, the inadequacy and self-hatred - side effects of seeing them suffering while I languished in relative comfort.

He insulted much of what I stood for with his vitriolic barrage. Implicitly implying that I wasn't doing enough for my mates - that was the limit. And so yours truly broke. Perks of being excused outfield eh?

That aside, my prior arrangements were messed with. Keeping people I long to see far away from me, keeping me from that release I get hearing that "hello" I won't ever hear in camp, that smile, everything. Prolonging the quiet longing permeating the core of my being, that is there when I look in the mirror, when I stare at the ceiling permutating possibilities, when the music plays - valiantly soothing sanity. The longing that is there with every step I take, every mouthful of food that enters my mouth, with every puff, a silent witness to the conversations I have with the similarly repressed in camp.

Time to head to town nevertheless. Gastronomic therapy should do me wonders.

As a side note, a part of me's trying to cuckold me into the delusional line of thought - just being around that person would be enough to soothe the pain and even wash it away. I'll try not to get taken in. It could be the same for the other party, though I still think I do it better. =)

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 11:09 pm

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priceless

The purple BDSM fairy of potatoes just told me the secret to life. Yes people, I'm that drunk says:
no i'm not fucking kidding

The purple BDSM fairy of potatoes just told me the secret to life. Yes people, I'm that drunk says:
get your mc

The purple BDSM fairy of potatoes just told me the secret to life. Yes people, I'm that drunk says:
a day mc or somethign

The purple BDSM fairy of potatoes just told me the secret to life. Yes people, I'm that drunk says:
then get an std

The purple BDSM fairy of potatoes just told me the secret to life. Yes people, I'm that drunk says:
then get a fucking long mc

Stay tuned - more extraneous ramblings and outbursts to come.

-unshackled and unfettered he seeks power sublime- 11:10 am

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